


Waiting

by Zeds_Dead



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Canon, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, One Shot, Self-Harm, Triggers, eruri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 01:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10606680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeds_Dead/pseuds/Zeds_Dead
Summary: Practised movements took Levi through yet another day as he waited, hands methodically cleaning blades that had gone unused for years. The cloth was pristine, as was the metal it ran over and Levi stared into the distance, eyes unfocussed and seemingly dead as he waited. Waited for the day he could stop, put this wretched existence behind him and say a massive 'fuck you' to the world. Waited for some kind of absolution and peace.





	

Time was a strange thing, a clement and equally vicious phenomenon, one which softly healed but also brutally tore lives apart with it's bare hands. Some people felt cured after a dose of time, the medicine serving to lick wounds and mend broken bones, however it was less effective on the mind, a more potent tincture required to solve that kind of injury. 

With time came space to think; days, weeks and months to mull over choices, replay events as recollections became murky, the truth hiding behind veils of mist. Was a memory real, or simply blurred by this thing called time? Was it sugar-coated, tainted by mental self-preservation? Or was it laid bare and bloody as if it had happened yesterday? 

The latter applied in one particular case, the man's introverted behaviour having been the topic of gossip and whispers for so long already that Levi realised he really didn't give a shit, shut out any comments or observations and kept his shadowed mind secure from outside influence. Of course he heard them, had done since that first day back after losing so many souls, the remarks initially biting at his heart like sewer rats. 

His fault.

Wrong decision.

Signed humanities death warrant. 

Snippets of conversations had been picked up from around corners, dimly lit halls hiding Levi from sight as he unemotionally listened to strangers question his judgement, words which eventually turned more personal. Where was the fire that once lay in those now blank silver eyes? How much weight had he lost? Did he ever bother to shave anymore? What happened to the strongest soldier they knew?

Practised movements took Levi through yet another day as he waited, hands methodically cleaning blades that had gone unused for years. The cloth was pristine, as was the metal it ran over and Levi stared into the distance, eyes unfocussed and seemingly dead as he waited. Waited for the day he could stop, put this wretched existence behind him and say a massive 'fuck you' to the world. Waited for some kind of absolution and peace. 

Threads had become thin, worn down from constant friction but Levi didn't even flinch when his skin was broken, in fact he revelled in being able to feel something again, a sharp cut that brought back imagery he wished would be clouded by time, but it remained stark and true. Erwin's face. The scar on his palm that never quite faded. A mark left because of him. 

Every day, every single damn day he went through this routine, blank face betraying the turmoil within and Levi sighed, a tiny breath in an otherwise stagnant atmosphere, lost instantly just like his own self. He rose and set his sword down, clunk of heavy equipment sounding deafening in the small living quarters and Levi sourced a bandage, the fabric wound tightly as dust swam up in sprays, miniscule particles highlighted by the waning sun. Tying it off proved troublesome with one hand and he huffed, thinking back to how hard Erwin used to try and do everything himself despite his obvious hurdle. 

"Stubborn as a mule." 

Levi's voice was quiet and respectful, lips dry and he moved to boil a pot of water, daily motions altered ever so slightly by the addition of his bleeding palm. And he waited. Passive on the outer shell - that's what he was now, merely a shell of a man, however a spark had ignited inside that demanded to be noticed, kindling for an inferno. For the first time in what seemed like decades, Levi's heart rate increased as the speed of bubbles in the liquid also grew, both combining to create clammy anticipation. 

If anyone had been watching, not even the slightest flicker of change would've been evident on the Captain's features as he picked up the iron kettle, bandage doing little to protect from burning metal and Levi poured, dark leaves swirling inside the small strainer that sat on the rim of his cup. Flesh succumbed, stuck to the handle and the action was completed, pot placed back on a now dormant stove as Levi drew back, examined the new welts with stony indifference. He could feel. Experience. Exist. 

With that came guilt, overbearing guilt and the next part of his day continued, modest tub filled with a meagre amount of hot water to bathe in as the tea brewed and he undressed slowly, bandage removed and he sunk down into the bath. Waiting. Thinking.

Erwin couldn't feel anymore. Didn't exist. Levi only had his imagination as he washed with automatic sweeps, closed his eyes and tried to recall the sensation of large hands on his cheeks, a warm mouth on his, nose nuzzling into the crook of his neck. But even that was fading. 

The throb in his palm gave an anchor to reality and Levi snapped to attention, mirror snatched from the side-chest and he propped it up, lower face covered in thick creamy soap. He lifted the cutthroat razor, turned it over in his hands with a wondrous stare as grey eyes revealed a glimmer long since forgotten, light flashing against the dangerous tool and he dragged it down his cheek, the rasping sound of stubble only slightly satisfying. 

The shave was neat and nick-free, perfect as always when he did decide to bother, and Levi stood ankle-deep in tepid water, blade still in an almost imperceptibly shaking hand. 

He could wait. He could wait for fucking ever. Or he could chase death. Jump the queue. End this in one decisive stroke. 

Levi dried off in boredom, glare trained on the ceiling as his adrenaline abated, razor safely back in it's box, waiting for the next time. 

As Levi would be waiting in his own tomb, waiting for the day that never seemed to come. The day they would be together again.

**Author's Note:**

> I had the need to write some depressing angst and this happened


End file.
